


Some Are Just Black Holes (The Difference Between  17 and 27)

by a_single_night_without_ghosts



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 27, Based on a Fall Out Boy Song, Depression, Folie à Deux (Fall Out Boy), Future Character Death, Gen, Growing Up, Maybe - Freeform, Members of Fall Out Boy, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), References to Addiction, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Rough Draft, fall out boy - Freeform, growing older, mature scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_single_night_without_ghosts/pseuds/a_single_night_without_ghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Fall Out Boy's 27.<br/> A depressed Pete in the week leading up to his 28th birthday tries to overcome the difficulties that have haunted him every day for the last decade. Pete's a mess, basically, he needs help.'Hopefully,' he thinks, 'this will all be over soon.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just to Feel Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Contains references to depression, nothing too extreme.

[[27. What's so special about 27? Well, this is the last year. Of course I said that ten years ago, but who's counting? Oh yeah, me. Well I turn 28 in about a week. I don't want to. It's both about growing older and growing up. Who wants to grow up? Well I didn't and I don't. I didn't want to turn 18. I didn't want to make it to adulthood. It's so much sadder, a tragedy, when a kid dies, but when an adult kills themselves it's just irresponsible and selfish. Guess I was scared to be responsible? Or to be alone? I didn't want to take this suffering any farther. 28 is a deadline and I want to take it. But I won't. I have a life ahead of me and even if I'm scared or don't want it now, someday, I might. I don't know what the future holds, but we'll see. It might not be that bad. This past decade wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. ]]

"Pete, sound check in 15." 

"Shit," Pete snapped the laptop closed. 

Ever since he started showing his notebook to the band during song writing sessions he had started writing on his laptop so no one else in the band would have to see what he was going through. Besides the fact that he saw how it hurt them to know that he was hurting and couldn't do anything to help it creeped him out a lot to know that none of his thoughts were secure or private. It was better if he could choose what and when to tell others. 

Pete grabbed his bass walked onto the stage. 

"Woah," Joe said taking a step back, "everything okay, man?"

"Yeah, why?" 

"Well, ya look like you're about to kill someone with that thing," Joe looked very concerned.

"Or like you're hungover," Andy piped up, "you need anything?"

"No, I just have a headache," Pete responded. 

"Well be sure to let us know if you think you'll have a hard time playing," the tour manager intoned. He was always keeping tabs on Pete, something he'd grown to dread in the past few weeks. 

"I know," and he really did, they did this almost every show. But Pete didn't want to be rude, he knew the guy was rooting for him. "Thank you," he added, squinting at the light box, trying to make out the shape of the man. 

"Are we gonna start, or what?" Patrick had just walked on stage.

"Says the guy who's five minutes late," Joe scoffed. 

***

After the concert Pete quickly showered and brushed his teeth. He could barely keep his eyes open. Four hours later his eyes were sandpaper and no matter how hard he tried or wanted to he couldn't close them. Depression; being on the verge of being knocked out cold and being fully alert. Nightmares rang before his eyes in the darkness. 

***

Pete was awake when Patrick woke up. Sitting at the table in the common area drinking coffee Pete was watching the sun rise and illuminate the trees that blurred past. 

"How long have you been awake?" Patrick asked. 

"A while," Pete replied. 

"Thought you might say that. Hey got any more of that stuff?" Patrick asked gesturing to the mug of steaming black coffee. 

"Yeah, but it's more bitter than my Aunt Barbara."

"Wasn't she the one who married and divorced the same man twice?"

"Yep." Patrick let out a little laugh, Pete turned away, Pat didn't need to see his face devoid of humor. It was just too early for him to not be solemn. 

Patrick sat down next to him and quietly drank his coffee. They stayed like that, quiet, until more noises of waking bodies drew them to breakfasting before there was a crowd. They arrived at the venue after a few hours of being cramped in the bus with only two boxes of cereal and little coffee. Pete didn't know how everyone could live right on top of each other and still breathe, let alone laugh. He couldn't blame them for being happy, he just wishes he could understand that. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Doing Lines of Dust and Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicago-3 days to go

[[We got home from tour today, three days before my birthday. Came home to an empty house. It's really quiet. I want noise, anything. Yelling or screaming or anything. Just nothing sensical, noise but not sound. I don't want to think. Three days till the ten year anniversary of me not dying. I can't stand this house. I'm going out.]]

Pete woke up to a splitting headache. He was lying half on what he thinks is a coffee table. 'Shit, I'm gonna be late to the bus,' he thinks briefly. He looks around but it gives him no clues as to his location. It's just some small white room with no windows. He eases up and pain shoots down his spine. How could he fall asleep like that? As he achingly reaches the door he vaguely remembers getting home from tour and unpacking but he can't seem to recall anything past two in the afternoon yesterday. He creeps into the hall outside and realizes where he is.

The slums hold many places like this, not all so well secured, but just the same none the less. The slumped bodies of wealthy aristocrats and businessmen and loose bottles and other undesirable items lie scattered across the floor. The promise pete made to the band flashes through his mind, too blazing to think about. A small window at the end of the hall guides him to the door. Past many more rooms, down more closed off halls he walks. When he finds the exit a man is waiting with sunglasses and a cigarette. 

"Compliments of the house," he says, " and one of our cars will take you home." Places like this charged out the nose, they could afford to. Amenities like this were a given. High profile people needed a place to 'unwind' where they wouldn't be noticed. People were willing to pay. Pete mumbled a 'thank you' and took the glasses and cig. He braced himself and walked out the exit. A covered awning and hedges twenty feet high kept the area cool and hidden. A black town car was parked at the end of a few steps.

"Where to?" The driver asked. Pete gave his address and slid into the back seat. The driver peeled off and Pete watched the gated house slide by. 

Back home Pete slid off his shoes and glasses and took a moment to readjust to the setting. He started a pot of coffee brewing and crawled into the shower. The hot water ran down his back and the steam helped clear his head. A few minutes later the coffee pot beeped and he stepped out eager to get caffeine. 

Now in lounge pants and a loose t-shirt he poured a steaming cup of rich aromatic coffee. He crashed down in a chair and put his head on the table. What had he done? He still couldn't remember exactly. He had gone out obviously. He stumbled around looking for his phone until he found it, wrapped in his old t-shirt in the bathroom. He really couldn't think. He checked Twitter, nothing, that was good. He continued on through his social media and found nothing no buzz about his whereabouts. Okay, so he hadn't done anything to garner attention. Then he looked over at his laptop, his diary was up. A little bit of the previous evening came back. The silence, the loneliness. He snapped the laptop shut. No wonder he'd gone out. But still, he wished it'd only been drinking. He couldn't deal with this, he was too hungover, and maybe still a bit too high. He plodded down the hall and into bed. 

Pete woke up to more blankets than he remembered and tea next to the bed. He slipped out from under the covers and taking small sips from the mug headed to the kitchen. He heard murmurs of voices coming down the hall as he approached. Andy and Patrick sat at his table both drinking tea. 

"What, has coffee been banned?" Pete tried to joke. His voice was so rough the words barely formed. 

"I think you'll do with something a little mellow for now," Pete could tell Patrick knew about the former night. 

"How did you know?" 

"How do we ever know?" Andy's soft voice came across the table. 

"But only rumors," Pete replied.

"But we still know," Patrick said bitterness edging into his voice, "we called Thomas."  
Thomas was Pete's friend. Thomas started off as Pete's youth physiologist, but after years of seeing the man, they had become friends. "He's going to stay with you for a few days."  
Pete scowled. "No," he said. 

"You don't really have a choice," Andy said. "Either he stays or you go in." Pete couldn't commit himself again. At least if he stayed in his own home he still had a little freedom. 

"Fine," Pete relented. He could still sneak out before his birthday, said a voice hiding in the back of his mind. While he thought of all the ways he could escape the watchful eyes of his friend Patrick went on about how he was a mess and needed to get better. 'Yeah, okay. I'll get better. In less than a week.'


	3. Got a lot of friends who are stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life feels like a daze.

Thomas showed up the next day.

"You know you didn't have to come, man." Pete was hunched over his table shivering.

"Thanks, but I kind of did." Thomas was the kind of friend who would always be there for you especially when he knew you didn't want him there. He knew that those were the times you need people the most. "I mean, how often do I get to spend time with my favorite little masocist?" 

Pete snorted, "I'm not that little anymore," he pointed out. 

"True, what are you making an old man like me come all the way out here for?" Thomas joked.

"You live just in town, nut job. Besides you're barely a decade older than me," Pete replied. His voice trembled on the last few words. He swore under his breath. Thomas reached over to take Petes tea and refill it. 

"The burnout's that bad, huh?" Thomas remarked. It was true, the after effects of the drugs were taking a toll on Pete. He was shaking and nervous and had started to scratch at his arms. At least Petes battle was real now, he hated knowing it was all in his head. With the fresh tea a renewed sense of strength came to Pete. Two days. Only two more. Then he could end it. 

***

As much as it looked like Thomas was just bumbling around like a house guest he was actually highly observant. He noticed the little ticks when Pete walked around and when Pete stared off into nowhere thinking to himself Thomas noticed the dark shadows crossing his face. 

Thomas met Patrick for lunch later the first day. Pete was asleep and Joe had stopped by to record some stuff with Petes equipment anyway so he wasn't home alone. 

"How's he doing today?" Patrick asked, "He was kind of a mess yesterday, thought we might have to commit him for physical injuries."

"A little better from what I can tell. He's trying to get over the burnout symptoms," Thomas replied, "He seems to be trying very hard. Like he needs to get better right this very instant." 

"Isn't that good?" Patrick asked confused at the concern on Thomas's face.

"Usually recoveries like that don't last," the older man replied.

"Oh," Patrick somberly nodded. His concern for his friend overwhelmed him. Maybe soon Patrick would need meds too.


	4. Some are just black holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words have the power to destroy.

News of Pete's relapse finally hit the web. It was such an old story everyone already knew, there were a few articles here and there but mostly the world kept spinning. One story said something interesting though. It spoke of a private therapist visiting Pete at home and consorting with Patrick behind Pete's back. 'Who the frick?' Pete thought. No one knew that kind of stuff, not unless they were very close to Pete. Who would spill such private information? Honestly, being famous means everyone stabs you in the back eventually. 

Inside Pete's apartment it felt like it wouldn't turn fast enough. Every minute scraped past like a cruse ship sailing over an entire continent. It didn't help that Pete's heartbeat punctuated every second like a clock he couldn't shut up. Patrick was still crashing on Petes couch and Pete could see little drool stains on the pillows. 

Pete started a pot of coffee for Patrick when he eventually pulled himself out of whatever dream was absorbing his subconscious at the moment. He really just needed something to keep his mind off running. If He ran too soon they'd have time to find him before he was ready to go. 

When Patrick finally roused himself he stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed he started grumping under his breath. Pete just slid a cup of hot coffee with just a touch of cream and sugar into his hand. Patrick immediately perked up. After a few long minutes of sipping he began probing Pete with questions. Patrick mostly wanted to get a feel for how Pete was coming along. He knew Pete wasn't happy about his birthday, but Patrick really just didn't understand. 28 wasn't that old, why was it such a big deal? 

"No, but a small party could be good. Just a cake and some music and friends. Thomas and the band and roadies? It could help lighten the mood, help you feel cheery again," Patrick tried.  
"Nothing too big. Don't put a lot of effort into it. I won't do people very well right now," Pete reasoned. He didn't want Patrick to put a lot of effort into a party Pete wasn't going to attend. He didn't know who he could trust anymore anyway.  
"Of course, don't feel rushed to get back into things. Take your time recovering," Patrick responded thinking back to Thomas's advice.  
"Yeah," was Petes somber reply. 

*****

Patrick tried to get Pete to work on some music later. Pete went along with it for a while, but eventually just zoned out and Patrick left him alone sitting on the floor staring at the carpet. 

Patrick had never had to deal with severe depression in that form before. He tried to imagine what was going through Pete's head. Pete had talked about it before. The nothing, he'd said, the thoughtless numb, he spoke like he just emptied out and was like a camera monitoring a painting, alive but pointless and unchanging. His eyes reporting info to his brain, but his brain not doing anything with the information. Patrick knew that Pete must be feeling that now. He watched from the doorway as Pete just sat. He was barely breathing and Patrick began to get concerned, but Pete's breath leveled out so Patrick left to grab some lunch from the kitchen. He knew Pete wouldn't eat, but he made up some soup for him too anyway. 

Pete didn't remember much when he came back to earth. He knew Patrick's name and why he was there but to him it seemed he must have been sitting on the floor for as long as he'd been on the earth. It came to him slowly. As he realized he must have zoned out immense guilt washed over him. 

"Patrick I'm so sorry. We were trying to write a song. I-I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep. I didn't take my sleeping pills last night." Patrick looked slightly alarmed at that. He'd been giving Pete a sleeping pill every night since the incident to make sure he wasn't alone with his thoughts all night. "I just wanted to try sleeping normally again," Pete went on.  
"And you didn't sleep well?" Patrick inquired, "why didn't you wake me?"  
"I wanted you to get your sleep. How are you supposed to take care of me if you're sleep deprived?" Pete asked.  
"Still..." Patrick didn't know how to feel anymore. Pete was talking more, but he still got the feeling that everything wasn't quite okay again.


	5. I'd Shoot the Sunshine Into My Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happens when you begin to lose your mind?

It was an intense struggle to sneak around Patrick, especially after how carefully he had thought about how to keep Pete safe.   
After ordering delivery one of the guys had left their phone on an end table and Pete swiped it and sent off a text before he could really think about whether he really should or not. His dealer would meet him by the bathroom window to make the exchange. The way Pete figured it was since he was finally over the nightmare of withdrawals he would be able to make a sane and reasonable choice about actually taking the drugs. He wanted to have them just so that he could have the choice to make.   
His dealer was outside now, so he opened the window as carefully as he could.   
"50 bucks for your soul."  
"Very funny," Pete quipped back. Pete handed the guy some cash and Pete got in return a small, brightly wrapped plastic package.   
"Thanks, man," Pete mumbled distracted by the hot pink sachet of whatever the hell would take the edge off.   
"You need more than that, Amigo," the gentleman replied. 

As soon as the window was shut again Pete turned on the faucet and stowed the pack. Walking out of the bathroom Joe stopped him with a curious look, "You okay man, your hands are shaking?"  
"Must just be some of the withdrawal coming back," Pete replied.  
"You sure you'll be okay? Do you need anything?" Joe asked eyebrows scrunching together.  
"No. I'll be fine Joe," Pete said trying to sound reassuring.

Pete went to bed on the couch that night with Patrick sitting on the lounge chair next to him. When Patrick finally fell asleep Pete pulled out the packet.  
It still looked just as bright as in the midday sun. It was still just as deadly. Pete had been miserable for a very long time, even before the addiction got bad. Even before the studio apartment and van days. But he felt warm and safe and relaxed when the "sunshine" finally got to him. He began to crave that again. Pete had been fiddling with the package and after minor wear it tore. Seeing the powder pouf out and lightly dust his skin, he became overwhelmed. Out of years of habit he instantly moved to lick it up. He felt a rush of blood to his brain and then a little sickness in his belly. After a moment warmth spread through his limbs and then was gone. More. Lots more. It gave him the sense of calm to get the spare house key the boys had hidden by tossing it in with the silverware. Pete had seen a key in there when they were eating earlier, but was too out of sorts and groggy to be able to logic anything out. 

Pete was about to betray his friends again, but he finally had the nerve to maybe do something that would make that not matter. They wouldn't have to worry about the trouble he'd become any longer.


	6. If Home Is Where The Heart Is Then We're All Just F*cked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same old story, again and again.

The fists kept coming down on him. Who were they? Pete remembers lying on a couch. Walking, stumbling down sidewalks for miles. Here in a walking park with fists and boots, lying on the ground, everything was getting cloudy.

 

Wake up under a streetlight the color of piss. Head aching. Heart racing. Pete tried to stand up. He could feel a throbbing in his shin. Blood tacky and drying up on his face. His stomach was in searing pain with the throb of bruises on top. He stumbled away toward the nearest underpass. Sewer grates and steam releases from city grime were everywhere, releasing foul odors and making him sick. He kept walking. Maybe he could find a nice place to jump soon.

 

He did, into a fountain, two blocks from where he started.

 _Birthday_   he thought as he let the rush of cold clean water flow over him. _This was a bad idea._ But at least he still felt okay.

He woke up again to the feeling of being pulled out of the depths of the ocean. Ungracefully Patrick was pulling Pete out of the fountain. It took a few minutes, but eventually Patrick got him out.

"I-It's Cold!" Pete cried.

"No Kidding, It's three in the morning," Patrick sharply replied. Only a few hours after he passed out then probably. "Let's get you home then."

 

It was now six in the morning, and everyone was in the living room downing cups of coffee like the stronger things Pete wanted right then. Patrick hadn't talked to him since the other guys had woken. Patrick kept storming around and opened his mouth to speak to Joe and Andy a few times, but never said anything. After the guys had gotten through lecturing Pete for a few hours Patrick seemed to deflate. The sun began to shine and Pete felt the burning in his eyes begin. He was exhausted and it caught up with him.

 

When Pete woke up it was a little after three and the house was very quiet. He padded around looking for signs of anyone. There was a pair of shoes he didn't recognize by the door. Pete turned around to go back into the house and look again in case he missed a spot that someone could be hiding in. But why would the be hiding? Suddenly, the door behind Pete opened and Thomas stepped in.

"What are you doing here?" Pete asked. _Great, they got Thomas involved._

"When I left you," Thomas began, "you were in a stable condition, were you not?"

"And I still am," Pete replied. He wasn't even as he was speaking he could feel his lungs burning and his muscles begin to ache. His legs almost gave out, but he wouldn't let that happen.

"Besides the sight in front of me, Andy says otherwise," Thomas countered. He wouldn't let Pete pretend nothing happened, he would have to face this.

"Andy? Since when do you talk to Andy? You never talk to Andy, always Patrick." Pete didn't even know Thomas had Andy's number.

"Since Andy calls and tells me you need a babysitter again."

"I don't need a babysitter," Pete was getting snippy now. He was always a diva, but in immense pain he was the worst.

"Don't be a fool, Pete. You hurt your friends, your band, and yourself. I know how difficult today is for you, but if you need help I'm right here. I was then, I am now too." It took Pete a moment to remember what Thomas meant.

"How could you bring that up?" Pete was furious.

"Because it's what this is isn't it? Ten years ago, you, Peter Pan, were afraid to grow up and face life. Afraid to turn eighteen and now you feel washed up because you should've done it then and should do it now. Tell me I'm wrong." The two of them sat in silence until Pete broke down.

Thomas was with Pete during that time and was about the only person Pete trusted the information to. Not because at the time they were particularly close, but because Thomas was a young intern at the hospital Psychiatric Ward back then and was so focused on succeeding at his craft that Pete figured he didn't care enough to actually listen. He was wrong, however. Thomas listened closely while taking notes and when he seemed distracted by the stress of the job it was actually stress over Pete. Thomas knew that Pete spoke more when he wasn't being watched as most troubled kids usually do. He kept his eyes on his work and only spoke to get clarification on the things Pete would say. Then, Thomas asked Pete to visit during the lunch hour once and started the conversation by discussing Motley Crue songs. A month before Pete's birthday he confessed his plan to "disappear." He was still hopeful that all the people who were hurting would be saved by death at the time. That the sun would shine through the rain for them and they would live in a pain free world. He no longer felt that way.

 

"I'll be fine," Pete eventually said, a knot in his throat making difficult to speak.

"Don't blow me off Pete," Thomas implored.

"Wouldn't you be happier finding some other kid to save?" Pete miserably implored.

"No, Pete. Because I would still want to save you," Thomas replied. Pete tied to stop remembering where he was a decade ago today.

"Where did the guys go anyway?" Pete asked, "Shouldn't they be getting back soon or did they finally give up on their shit friend?"

"They went to find Patrick I believe," Thomas answered.

"Why, Where did he go?" Pete began to get nervous. He would rather have heard that they were pissed and didn't want to deal with him anymore.

"Well, I would assume that's what they are trying to find out. Come sit down for a while," Thomas directed.

"No! What if Patrick left? Like for good?"

"I thought that's what you wanted," Thomas said, knowing full well that was exactly what Pete didn't want.

"We have to find him!" Pete grabbed a coat and was halfway to the door when Thomas grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Let the others take care of that," he said calmly, "you need to rest."

"How do you rest when your friend goes missing?" Pete was exasperated.

"How do you rest when your friend has a death wish?" Thomas replied. Pete was stung. He allowed Thomas to lead him into the other room and lay him down. "He'll be back when he's ready," Thomas reassured him.

It took until nearly ten thirty that night for Andy and Joe to show up with a very drunk Patrick. Red faced and swollen eyed, Patrick slurred something at Thomas and possibly Pete before being lugged off into the bedroom. Pete was shaking and had a splitting migraine, but still managed to look forlornly at the silhouette of Andy and Patrick disappearing down the hall.

"How's the delinquent?" Joe asked.

"Pete is doing okay, he's running a bit of the fever and winces when even the air conditioning turns on, but other than that, better than when I got here," Thomas reported. Pete stayed quiet the whole time and waited until everyone settled in to dose off.

Pete was in and out of sleep all night. He felt guilty for wanting to leave and guilty for hurting everyone he cared about. He got up to use the restroom and he could swear Andy's grip strength on his wrist was superhuman. He finally convinced Andy to let him use the restroom in peace, as long as it didn't take more that one and a half minute and Andy was timing. The got settled in again and a few minutes later he heard Andy's snoring mix in with the noise. Pete dozed off again a few times, but eventually woke up incredibly parched. He very carefully made it around the defense of bodies laid out around him and went into the kitchen. Pete looked over at the door. He could run. He could...something got knocked over in the other room. Pete padded quickly back to the living room, but the only thing he saw was sleeping bodies. Patrick? Pete heard the sound of the window sill sliding open. Pete's mind jumped to the worst. His apartment being five stories up, Pete had considered using it as his "escape" method himself. He hurried to his room and slipped in as quietly as possible. He didn't  want to startle Patrick and cause him to fall. Patrick was half out of the window by the time he heard the shuffle and turned to face Pete.

"Wait!" Pete cried that probably would have been loud if Pete's throat hadn't been sore and swollen already.

"Shut UP!" Patrick whisper-screamed, "And leave me alone." He wasn't entirely sober, but Pete wasn't doing much better.

"Don't leave me!" Pete blurted.

"Come on then," Patrick replied.

"What? We can't go together. I have to leave a long time before you!" Pete cried outraged.

"Well I'm not sticking around, I can almost see straight again and I don't like it, come with me or not, I'm going for more whiskey and you can't stop me," Patrick stated firmly, as firmly as a guy who can _almost_ see straight again can manage.

"Alcohol? Really Patrick you couldn't just say that? Well I have to go with you then, I don't trust you not to walk into traffic in the state you're in," Pete commented petering across the floor to the window. He'd forgotten about the fire escape the maintenance team had installed last month. It was on the next window over, but they could probably manage to get to it fairly easily.

"I'm not the suicidal one," Patrick replied to Pete's earlier comment. Pete wasn't so sure.

 

They got lost on the way to the liquor store, needless to say. Pete couldn't look at the street signs because the streetlights would hurt his eyes and Patrick couldn't navigate sober, let alone drunk. Eventually they ended up walking around by an outdoor café, closed for the night, and stopped to sit in the chairs chained to the cement.

Patrick sobered a little more and began to hum.  He moved to the seat next to Pete and leaned in close. He really had been hitting the whiskey.

"Why do you do it? Again and agaaAaaAAAaain. I had a party planned out and everything," Patrick pouted, letting a soft jazz melody slip halfway through. "I'm sick of singing myself to sleep and sick of missing you. Everything was okay, you were talking to us again, you were caring again. We had you clean and then I find you left me in the middle of the night to get beat up by a gang of hoodlums!" Patrick sounded distraught. He had every right to be.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry! My friend thinks living is bad and he's a wassste. He isn't! You should hear the things he says. I just say plain stuff but baby you have a mind!" Patrick rambled. "All the girls like you and...and...yeah. And he comes up with these insane lyrics that are relatable, like how people suck and hurt you and leave you and how all the good times feel too far away to forget! You ever feel like that Pete?" Pete could see how much of a mess Patrick was and in a short moment of silence Patrick looked up at Pete with tears running down his cheeks. Patrick pretended they weren't there and looked away quickly. It was rare Patrick seemed to be able to understand the kinds of things Pete writes about, but the way he always sang the lyrics, he always had some clue. Pete thought for a moment, "Yeah, Patrick. I feel like that a lot. You're a bottled star, ya know?"

"Stuff like that. I miss my friend," Patrick turned his eyes to Pete.

"I miss you too."

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes it's tough. We always make it through. Know what you're fighting for and stay strong. It won't always be tough, it might only be a few years, it might be a decade, but eventually you'll be okay.


End file.
